Entries tagged with motley

It's not that many, but it seems that way. Here's a bunch of pictures to look at for no reason whatsoever.

First off, here's a recent one of me before I headed off for a job interview. This outfit makes me look bigger than I am, but it's the only "business" outfit I currently have. Bummer. I don't think that any part of it touches my skin except the part that hangs on the shoulders and the skirt's elastic that fits round my waist.

There's a reason why the movie W. is being released so close to Hallowe'en: it's a freakin' horror movie. And what makes it even scarier is that it's based on a true story. Dubya will end up in the ranks of horror movie monsters like Freddy Kreuger, Jason Vorhees, and Pinhead. I can see it happening. He's been scaring the hell out of me for the past eight years.

Attention all you crazy Russian serial frienders: I don't mind you're friending me. Hell, I'd friend you back if you'd just pop onto the ole blog and tell me you've friended me and introduce yourself! But I don't like being part of some bizarre online competition. So, if that's why you friended me, please defriend me and move along. No harm, no foul. If that's not what you're doing, just let me know and I'll friend you back because I dig people on a certain level despite my rabid misanthropy. I especially like Europeans and I've always been quite fond of Russians, Czechs, and Poles. Slavs in general are of particular interest to me and I've actually tried to teach myself Russian and Czech. That was about twenty years ago, which means I remember none of what I taught myself. That said, I can't understand a word you write in your journal, but that's okay. If you're a legitimate friender, I'll friend you back and enjoy the Cyrillic appearing on my Friends Page. It may prompt me to try to learn Russian again!

I've decided to not return to the bakery. I'm thinking that Teresa is trying to "punish" me by not giving me any hours this week. Actually, even though I needed those hours, I've had a wonderful weekend, thanks to Teresa's so-called punishment. And her actions stirred within me the last vestige of pride that I possess and that the Man has yet to successfully beat down. I'm no longer a bakery slave! When/If Teresa calls to let me know she finally "needs" me to come back to work, I'm going to inform her that I'm no longer available to work in the bakery and that I'm going to do to her what she did to me. And I'm going to hang up on her. I've already told Tami that I'll be available to work more hours at the Dollar General. When I go in to work on Tuesday, I'm supposed to write down what days and times I'll be available for work. It's gonna be difficult not having that third job, but we'll make it somehow and I'll be saving what little pride I have left so that I can continue to partially hold my head up in this Corporate/Fascist state that's keen on eradicating any capacity for thought and self-preservation its consumers may possess. By the grace of the Goddess and God, I will persevere!

clumsycake is having a hell of a time trying to find a surgeon who will help her with her bladder problem. Since she has no insurance, she's trying to go through some charity organisations to try to get her surgery. The problem she's having is that tacking up a woman's bladder is considered an "elective" surgery, which means anyone who needs the surgery has to grovel in the gravel to maybe get it down the road. clumsycake is in pain and can't function because of her dropped bladder, yet the powers that be have decreed that her condition isn't that serious and should therefore be treated as an elective situation, if it's treated at all. She has an appointment with a doctor on Tuesday, after speaking with an Ask-a-Nurse nurse, who directed her to Regenesis. Maybe she'll be able to get the help she desperately needs. This is America's health care in action! Stay tuned here for more riveting updates on clumsycake's fearless sojourn into the dreadful quagmire of the US health care system.

There's something coming on the History Channel at 10PM which is what I'd called Must See TV. It's called Last Days on Earth. If you're even remotely sympathetic to my Alpaca Liptic message here on The Cliffs of Insanity, then you need to get thee hence and enjoy this Feel-Good Television.

I've decided that, the next time one of my animal companions finds themselves needing a "lamp shade" around their heads, I'm going to request the largest lamp shade available. Then I'm going to cut it into a daisy shape and paint it purple. Then I'd place this godawful thing on my unfortunate animal friend and promptly take pictures. I'm hoping that my animal friend would look like this: I think Riley would be the perfect candidate for this dandy pictorial project.

Smidgen is exhibiting something I like to call the Feline Autumn Heebie-Jeebies. When she takes herself outside for any length of time, after she comes in, she has huge pupils and she runs about like a crack whore who's on a particularly festive high. Riley and Motley get the brunt of her FAHJ. Smidgen stalks both of them and just gets the greatest pleasure when she manages a smack on the sly. I'm hoping I can get her on film, walking on her hind legs, her arms in the air, and her eyes black as night. I've noticed that many cats succumb to the Feline Autumn Heebie-Jeebies. The change in the air seems to affect most cats, making them celebrate life to the fullest of their feline abilities. This means that someone is going to suffer and someone else will be amused by their moments of suffering. And the wheel keeps turning....

I went to my orthopædist this morning with the hope that he'd go ahead and see me even though I only had $100 of the $203 I owe him. Before I even got to sit down, I was dragged into the financial officer's office to pay my bill. She talked to me like I was a dog (this seems to be a pattern in my life right now, being talked to and treated like a dog by various people in so-called power) and went through this whole drama of going back to talk to the doctor to see if he'd be benevolent and see me, even though I'm poor trash who can't pay my bills. About ten minutes later, she returned and said, "You're lucky he's feeling generous today. You may go ahead and pay the $100, but you need to get more money into us as soon as you can. You don't go get your car fixed and then just drive off without payment, so you can do that here either." I'm quoting her here. What she said is emblazoned on the surface of my brain like a brand of shame.

And I didn't even get to see Dr. Keith today. I saw the nurse practitioner, who diagnosed me with bursitis in my left shoulder. I got an injection in my shoulder and one in my knee, and was sent off with a prescription for pain medication and the orders to follow up as needed. That translates as "follow up when you have money and not a damned day sooner." Maybe now I won't be waking up in godawful pain two or three times a night and working in constant pain every day...until the shots wear off, that is. Meh.

I just feel like I'm gonna lose it if one more person treats me like I'm less than the gum stuck to the bottom of their shoe. This latest interlude of human malice does wonders for my already high level of misanthropy. But...onto happier matters, like pink elephants.On my way home, I saw in the distance what looked like a pink elephant on wheels. Thinking back to yesterday, I made certain I hadn't had a few snifters for my birthday and that I was suffering from hallelujah-fascinations as a result but, no. I was sober yesterday and was even more so today. So I sped up to catch up to the offending vision. Sure enough, it was indeed a pink elephant on wheels and I have the pictures to prove it!

Now, I'm not certain that the house is really haunted, but it sure looks it. I'd love to live there, or at least spend one night in the house. I'd probably emerge the next morning with snow white hair and a blank stare on my face, but I'm inclined to that any day as it is, given my spiritual connections with Nadine Cross. Speaking of haunted houses, the creepy nurse in the remake of House on Haunted Hill is none other than the woman who played Gozer the Gozerian. Hm. You learn something new every day!Nothing lifts my spirits more than taking pictures of the furry family members, so I'm featuring Motley and Riley in this post. When Motley spends quality time with Aunt Tudi, she invariably ends up standing on her head to show her affection. Why? Because she's a loon. And Riley? Well, Riley is just as crazy as hell. You can tell by the look in his eyes. The picture of him gazing off to the sky looks like he's in deep prayer. He probably is.

I'm gonna do my best to chill out for the next 45 minutes before I head into work at the Dollar General. My knee and shoulder are about to kill me, but I'm sure they'll feel better by tomorrow, once those shots begin to take effect. It's just a matter of getting through the night, then all will be okies.

There was a brief period of time when I thought I might be a dog person, but that was when Henry was around. I was a Henry person, really, not a dog person. In my heart for as long as I can remember, I have truly been a cat person. Their beauty, grace, and otherworldliness never cease to amaze and humble me. Now, there are some cats that I'm fonder of than others. A perfect example of this is Smidgen. She's such a unique feline individual. When she wants attention, usually from Aunt Tudi, she'll sit up and rub her ears. What made her decide that this would get attention is beyond me. I was lucky to finally capture this strange behaviour on film.

Now Motley is a cat that needs no human affection. She was born feral and forced into domesticity because of her being so ill when she was a young kitten. She never quite got over being an independent wild cat. Her disdain for humanity is easily shown on her face, which isn't nearly as pleasant as Smidgen's. Smidgen has an angel face whereas Motley has a bulldogish face with strangely reptilian eyes. When she looks at you, if she finds you vaguely interesting enough to merit her attention, you can almost feel her cold gaze upon you. When I came home, I spied her nestled under the canopy of the contorted filbert, certain in her catly summations that she was well-hidden from any and everything. I took a picture of her hunkered under the filbert, then I called her name. When she looked at me with those green reptile eyes, I took another picture.

Of all our cats of the Indoor Pride, Smidgen is my favourite and Motley is my least favourite. That doesn't mean I don't adore Motley. It's just that Smidgen has been incredibly special to me from the moment I scooped her up with two fingers. My affections for the Indoor Pride are allotted thusly:

SmidgenShmoopSteveAloysiusMotley

This doesn't mean that I'd send Steve to the pound before I would send Shmoop; rather, it just means that I'm more prone gush on Shmoop than I am Steve. It might not be the most fair position, but at least I'm honest about it. I love all the cats that grace my home, both the Indoor and Backyard Prides. Each cat is wonderful in his or her own right and I acknowledge that.

The "traditional" term is Creature of Habit, but I have decreed that, in the South, we only have Critters of Habit. This epiphany came to me when Aunt Tudi was telling me about Motley's daily ritual of coming in around lunchtime, eating a buttload of food until her belly looks like a baseball, and then lying down on the orange couch to take a several hour nap. I proclaimed that Motley was indeed a Critter of Habit. Now, if she were a cat living in Brooklyn, she'd be a Creature of Habit. But she's not a Brooklyn cat, although she'd do well in Brooklyn, I think. Motley is a little ruffian and could definitely hold her own with the city cats in the alleyways.

But she's a Southern cat, which means she's not a wise-ass alley cat, but a hell-raisin' Redneck cat. And she's a Critter of Habit.

This summons up my feelings about the South and being Southern. Before the Internet, I was profoundly ashamed of my heritage, so much so that I've almost totally eradicated my accent. I sound nothing like the other members of my family on the Father Unit's side. The Mother Unit's fam is bit harder to pin down. G'Pa was born in England, but lived most of his life in NYC, or so I believe. I could be wrong on this. The Grandmother Unit was born in SC, but escaped to NYC at a very young age and never came back, living there and California for the majority of her life. Both of them globe-trotted, being musicians and Bohemians.

Being Southern in the US means that you're automatically judged as an inbred idiot with no education. At least that's how I saw it and, honestly, I was led to see it that way because of the US media's treatment of the South. I've told people over the years that I'm a product of the New South, that generation that schluffed off our Old South albatross, masked our accents, and stressed the fact that we were contemporary and educated. It's a ruse, of course. I've come to realise that one can still be educated and have a horrific Southern accent. I'm doing my best to deprogram myself and not think "idiot" every time I hear a Southern accent.

I say "a" Southern accent because there's more than one. Sometimes I think that non-Southerners believe that there's only one accent, much like a lot of Americans think that there's only one British accent. Not true. In fact, accents can vary drastically within just 100 miles. The Western North Carolina accent isn't as "thick" as the South Carolina Upstate accent. We in WNC don't trill our "r" when saying "three," but SC Upstaters do. We say "flim" for phlegm, but Upstaters say "fleem." A lot of people in this area call Yvonne "WHY-vonne," whereas she's simply Yvonne in NC. In the South Carolina Low Country, the traditional accent is a lot like what you hear on TV, where it's assumed that all Southerners pronounce Southern like "Suthun." No. That's pretty much a Low Country and coastal Georgian phenomenon to my knowledge. Bostonians and Charlestonians say "park the car" a lot alike. They know no 'r's in their language.

Anyway, I digress. As I was saying, before the Internet, I despised being Southern. Now, not so much. Being exposed to so much diversity has made me realise how precious diversity truly is, including my own unique spot on this Earth. I can get away with saying "critter" and I now say it with relish. I enjoy the fact that nothing here is big; rather, it has to be big ole. My ability to tap into my Inner Southern has become a prideful thing to me. The method of Southern expression is sometimes the only way to describe a thing, and only a true born and bred Southerner can describe it in the way it needs to be.

I got a hint of this while working with Timothy, who is Southern through-and-through. He explained to me that dogs don't have fights; instead, they "waller down a bunch of ground." And you don't take up a gun and shoot a deer; instead, you "throw up and cut down" on it. Very descriptive, very accurate, and these expressions can not be uttered with anything but a Southern accent. Tim is one of the smartest human beings I know, and he's one of the biggest Rednecks I know, too. At the time, I would look down my multi-cultural New South nose, and tell him that I would never say such a thing. Now? Yeah, I probably would, simply because I'm one of few who really can.

So, to quote a former co-worker, "I said all that to say this:" my cats are all Critters of Habit. To be honest, so am I. Yee haaaaah!

Motley has spirited away my home figure of Durga. The Goddess is now *somewhere* in the house, but Durga only knows where. At least my travel figurine is still safe in her drawstring bag in my purse. Oy....

I talked to Mrs. Patch this morning. Shmoop doesn't have a hook worm or any other type of worm. Her poop provided no information on why she has diarrhea. Doc also checked her protein levels to see if that was the problem, but everything came out okay. So they're giving her an antibiotic for a possible intestinal bug. If that doesn't work, she may have to be switched to specialty food. I'll be going to get my bebbeh in about an hour.

My neck was getting better until I tensed up when Aunt Tudi fell. I am now unable to turn my head to left even a little. Hopefully, it'll ease off with time. Until then, I'm looking straight ahead.

Aunt Tudi's knee has gone down and her lip looks much better. I think she may just survive! The jury is still out on whether or not we'll be going to the Father Unit's this weekend, though. The good thing is that Lori said I could wait to the last minute to cancel boarding the dogs if need be. There's one wee load off my mind.

I'm now off to post pictures from the Asheville trip and figure out what I need to write next about Tuesday's goings-on.

I've concluded that Motley is the reincarnation of Gozer the Destructor. If she continues to wreak havoc in our house, it's going to collapse around us.

Foley is getting more aggressive in her affection. She wants to lie down across my chest and tries to bite me if I move her. Earlier, she literally sat on my face. I think I may have tossed her salad. Blech.

Lynx, Theordore, Joe, and Zsa Zsa refuse to eat until I pet each one of them in the mornings. For feral strays, they sure are pampered.

I rented it on Video on Demand on account of I hadn't seen it yet and I figured Romero's birthday is as good a day as any to catch a good flick. Right? I forgot that John Leguizamo was in this movie. Hubba hubba, waka waka.

Motley has enjoyed a hefty little growth spurt. She now actually looks like a six-month old kitten, albeit a small one. Now she's all legs and her primary joy in life is running like a little bat out of hell. True to her Manx nature, she trills more than meows. She's gotten in the habit of running past either Aunt Tudi or myself and trilling as she zips to the kitchen. It's her way of saying "feed me Seymour!" I call it her drive-by trilling. And she sounds a lot heavier than she actually is when she runs like that. Motley really puts all her power in those gangly little legs of hers.

Aunt Tudi has taken a wild hair and is outside doing yard work. I, on the other hand, am not. The Moon isn't conducive for heaving and tugging at branches that didn't need to be cut down in the first place. Sometimes I think Aunt Tudi invents stuff to do just to do stuff, if that makes any sense. Me? I'm just lying around bleeding and feeling sorry for myself.

So far today has been pretty chilly and windy, which makes it feel even chillier. Word has it that we may be in for some snow come Monday. Omigawd, I hope so! Nothing would make me happier than to experience a little bit of Winter weather in fucking Winter. There will be pictures if there is snow. Pictures and a mighty celebration.

The visit with Llew was very cool, very cool indeed. I left in time enough to get home for LOST, which was simply awesome, as always.

I then went to the bedroom to put my cell phone on the side table and what should I find but my wee Motley on my bed right beside Shmoop. That's the perfect ending to a near perfect day, I'd say ~ the final breakthrough for my feline sister-friends. They've not slept together before tonight. I'm well-pleased.

I'll be posting some recent pics of Motley and her sister, as well as Smidge and Shmoop. Readers are, I'm sure, unable to sit still from the excitement and anticipation.

I'm off to rub Aunt Tudi's back and then head for bed for reading time.

She's older than she looks. I had her pegged at around 5 months, but Dr. Patch says she's closer to 6 months. D'oh! She has a spaying appointment for 2 March. Doc says he thinks Motley won't get any larger than around 7 pounds. It may be a good thing she's a little hellion since the other two are 10 pounds and over. She'll need that attitude to match the others' poundage.

We're about to go out to the post office, the dump, and a grocery store. Once we get back home, I'm calling Fidelity and demanding my money before the government hijacks it for Zee Vorrrrrr.

Motley has critiqued my book by placing a poo-covered paw print on the cover page. She came out of the litter box and put her stamp of disapproval right there underneath the title. That pretty much says it all and tells me that I have my work cut out for me. It also tells me that Motley wants to be a critic when she grows up. She's vicious enough for such an occupation. Oh, and I think my feelings are hurt.

Insomnia had me in her hateful grip last night. I think I got maybe a couple of hours sleep at most, and that wasn't all together. Right before I went to the bedroom around 2 AM, I turned on the telly to check the weather. Noticed that Soylent Green was on and amused myself with thoughts of how fun it is to blurt out "Soylent Green is people!" at the most inopportune times, particularly during social gatherings. That was really the only good thing about the movie, that exclamation. It came in the last five minutes of the movie, but you knew this was the fact in the first five minutes. The hour and fifty minutes in between was tedious at best and made you want to gouge out your eyes with your thumbs.

How did Charleton Heston turn from being a 1970s super-dooper sci-fi b-movie groovster into a 21st Century gun Nazi? Was it all the damn dirty apes? Was it an overdose of Soylent Green? Was it hanging out with fugly Italian mobster vampires? Just what prompted the transformation? Inquiring minds want to know.

And what is it about John Leguizamo's abdomen that's so damned sexy? He's got a face like butt, but a body like a Greek god. I usually don't notice things like that, but Mr. Leguizamo is different for some reason, and I can't figure out why. It's maddening, I say, maddening!

Another thing I wonder: how on Earth can people keep more than one journal? I can barely keep up with this one and forget to post half the stuff I want to most of the time because I'm daft as hell. Better question: why would someone want to keep more than one journal? Why not keep everything in one big clump where it can all be found? Is it just me? Am I simpleminded or something? It just boggles my mind to think about keeping a separate journal for writing, one for religious matters, one for pets, and so on. Communities are different. I think they pretty much maintain themselves depending on the willingness of members to participate. I really don't feel obligated to communities, even though that may be the wrong way of thinking. But a journal should represent the whole of the person in my opinion. To fragment that is a disservice to oneself. Same goes for filters. I have very few filters because I can't be sussed to keep up with such. Call it laziness or an unwillingness to fragment my journal for the convenience of others. It's my journal. What you see is what you get. Feel free to skip over the crap in which you're not interested. Yo.

In other news. ....DUM DUM DUM: My biological clock is ticking like a sonnamabeetch. I'm pretty sure it's a combination of PMS, the abandoned baby on the taped Law & Order: SVU, and having just recently been assaulted by Angel. It would be a bleak day in history if I ever became a mother. I'm not mother material. I can tolerate and even enjoy the antics of a baby animal, but a human child pisses me right the fuck off. I want to squeeze its neck 'til its head pops off. Take Motley for instance. She's meaner than shit, but I think she's cute as can be. If she were a human, I would have already beaten her like an old rug. So, I will do the world a service and not get pregnant now.... or ever. Or maybe I'll end up being John Leguizamo's babymama and my child will have a fabulicious abdomen.

I've been listening to Arabic and Romany music for a good part of the day. There's something in that music that makes my blood flow just a little faster and freer through my veins. Klezmer does the same thing. Any music from the near East inspires me to a greatest of which I cannot conceive; therefore, I just listen and let my heartbeat pound in time.

Aunt Tudi went back to the doc today. She says Aunt Tudi is doing really well with her diabetes. She also said that Aunt Tudi's pharmacist is insane for thinking anything has changed on her insurance. Our last step to prove the old guy wrong is for Aunt Tudi to either contact a case worker or go down to the headquarters and talk to someone face to face. We'll be doing that tomorrow. We're gonna have to get something written, I'm afraid, 'cos the pharmacist is still arguing with Aunt Tudi about her coverage. I'm fighting the urge to pull him up by his collar and say, "Listen here, Captain Kangaroo! You're gonna fill my mother's prescriptions, you're gonna do it now, and you're gonna do it with a fucking smile on that pie face of yours, got me?" He looks like Captain Kangaroo, which makes me like him even less.

Afterward, we toodled down to the Beacon to take a picture of the billboard that's currently on display down there. It's horrific.

I'm just disgusted with this area. mekkasimian be aware! You're moving into the heart and soul of Jesusland! Even though we Pagans try to call it the Girdle of the Goddess, Dominionists are winning out on making this area the Buckle of the Bible Belt. May the Mighties have mercy and yours and Mrs. Simian's souls!

On a lighter note, Ingles' brand Laura Lynn is advertising herself as a homo gal.

I snagged a couple of pics last night while over at Llew's. His granddaughter is really growing. She'll be six next month. She's not nearly as obnoxious as she was a couple of years ago. Let it be known here that I usually find most kids obnoxious, so it's nothing against Destiny. Another kid who's not as obnoxious as before is my pseudo niece Angel. She's become very affectionate and not as whiny as before. Anyway, onto the Llew pics.

We've changed a little bit. It's hard to believe that we've been together five years this coming September. Our worst year was 2005. Our best was 2002, I'd say. The jury is out on 2006. We're working on it. If I were a "normal" woman, I would have jumped his ass yesterday. First he asked me I'd been drawing on myself and pointed to a line on my face. I checked in the mirror and it's a wrinkle! But it looks like a very light pencil park. Later on we were outside and Llew said, "I just found the prettiest white hair in your head! Oh look here are a few more!" Neither statements bothered me. I don't care about growing old and I think I've earned a wrinkle and a white hair or two. Hell, I'm 38. It's bound to happen sooner or later. So I didn't read Llew the riot act 'cos he was just being honest and at least he notices things about me. Better than nuttin'.We went by Dr. Patch's to drop off newspapers and set up an appointment for Motley to get her shot. She's growing like a weed and has overcome her poor health, so it's time for her boosters. When I take her for her shots, I'm then going to set up her spaying appointment. I'm figuring she'll be due sometime in April, if not a little sooner. If I can get any pictures of her with her eyes open, I'll post 'em pronto.

I also got some ear wash for Riley, who is still spazzing with itchy ears. There's no sign of ear mites, so I'm thinking the wash may do the trick just right.

The rest of the night is mine. I intend to do what I do best: NOTHING. And then I'm going to bed and watching BSG til I pass out. It's one of my favourite pastimes!

And I have an announcement. After finishing that movie by Mr. Xanadu, I suggested to Aunt Tudi that we stop going to Wally World altogether. I've been cutting it down to maybe once or twice a month instead of every week, and noticed that we actually spend less at the local grocer's than we do at Wal-Mart. She was all for it. So I suggested that we make that our one and only New Years Resolution. Again, she was all for it!

So.

BEGINNING IN 2006, AUNT TUDI AND I WILL NO LONGER BE WAL-MART whoresPATRONS

It's been a long time coming and I feel so much freer already! Wally World can kiss my big round arse. Yay!At 8:00 Aunt Tudi and I are going to watch War of the Worlds. After that, I shall be crawling off to the bedroom to die. It's been on my list of things to do all day long. What's so bad is I feel better today than I did yesterday.

Thanks to luminita, I have registered with Catster. Over the next few days I'll be working on creating a webpage for Smidgen, Shmoop, and Motley. They deserve all the publicity they can get because they're the coolest cats around.

It's just amazing how easily Motley was integrated into our house. I figured that there would be at least a day of hissing and smacking, but NO! Shmoop and Smidge looked at Motley as if to say: "Meh. Another one. We now outnumber the primates and will kill them in their sleep once this tiny one is grown."

They play with each other and eat together, which I think is fantastic. I can't wait to find them all sleeping together. That'll be the final indication that Motley has been completely welcomed into the fold.

I'm in a foul mood. I'm in a "I will hit you with a large spiked bat" mood. I'm in my monthly "give me my menstrual hut out in the wilderness because I'm a menace to society" mood. It doesn't help that I'm already sick but, now, I have cramps and my head is threatening to enjoy a piercing migraine. I want to train my Yorkshire Terrier to open up large cannisters of whoop-ass on unsuspecting passers-by. He's already halfway there. Chester was born with a 'tude.

Which reminds me of Gloria's little Yorkie, Hope. She's a rescued dog and hates everyone except for Gloria. She wants to bite your arse off, but she can't because she has no teeth. So here she is gumming her victims when they come into her abode. The other evening, Gloria tells, Hope squeezed out of a wee hole in the fence and went running down the street. Gloria was already in her jammies and took off after her little ghetto-pooch (with nods to clumsycake, who has the original two ghetto dogs). Gloria is new to the neighbourhood, having just bought her home. So the neighbours see the new addition to their territory hauling ass down the street in her jammies, chasing after a toothless rat with a hippie wig and a bad attitude. Now that's comedy. It can't be written or acted out. It just happens naturally, yo.

Motley is coming along nicely. She had the last of her meds today, so I suspect her stool will become normal in short order. It's about time 'cos she's stinking us out of house and home. Of course, I know that Manx's tend to have anal problems, or so I've heard. I need to do more research on that and see what I'm in store for. Anyway, she's following me around now, which is very cool as I didn't expect that type of behaviour so soon. Honestly, it's like someone flicked her switch from feral to tame i the course of a few seconds. It's the strangest thing I've seen in a while. But it's a hoot to watch her run. She's got that Manx bunny hop going on and it's just so adorable. Shmoop is playing with her, but Smidgen tends to mother her. She just watches and mrrns when appropriate. I guess, since she's the oldest, Smidgen is now the house mother of the indoor pride.

So here's a pic of Motley, being all tame and appearing as though she's grinning like a fool.

This was supposed to be a post about my foul-ass mood but, as usual, I'm gushing about the beasties. Seriously though. I'm Croning it up, man. My Inner Kali is screaming for heads and arms. I looked in the mirror and my face was dark blue and my tongue was hanging out. Maybe it's because I was just thirsty and cold at the time.

Speaking of cold, I got some nighttime piccies of the frozen contorted filbert.

Just looking at those pictures makes me want to drink something hot. I need some Baileys Irish Creme to pour in my Espresso. I also need some hot chocolate. I need some drugs that will knock my ass out for a while, too. I need too many things that I just can't have. So my mood becomes more sour by the minute.

After taking a nap under one of the end tables, Motley approached me of her own volition. She came up to the couch and placed her little front paws on the edge, looked up at me, and squeaked. When I picked her up, she started vibrating like a little motor and curled up in my lap. Since that time she has come up to my hand instead of running every time I blinked my eyes.

Honestly, I didn't think this would happen so quickly. It's like something just clicked in that little brain of hers and now she's digging me. She's still iffy with Aunt Tudi but only because I've handled her more over the past few days. Aunt Tudi has a trigger thumb at the mo which prevents her from handling Motley for any length of time. With time, this will change. I'm more confident about Motley's conversion now than I was just two hours ago.

Oh, while she was lying on me, she pooted. I heard this ever-so-slight "piffle," then was overcome with an odour that could surely be marketed as a weapon of mass destruction. My sense of smell isn't that good right now, thanks to the tracking ball in my head, but I could smell that. It burned away my Will to live.

She's growing more affectionate, but still has issues when on the floor and out of human hands. Her feral nature comes out and her first instinct is to run and hide, so we're letting her do her thing and become comfortable on her own time. When I first pulled her out of the pen, she was all lovey-dovey and possessive. Her motor ran constantly and she decided that she would mark my face as her own. So my face now belongs to Motley.

Aunt Tudi couldn't help herself, so she took a couple of pictures. Please don't click the link if you don't want to see a greasy-headed zombie girl in a bright purple shirt.

I feel just a tad better, having eaten and taken some medicine. I've had to take off my flannel shirt and am now in a tee. Not sure if it's a fever or if it's just hotter than hell in this house. I'm trying to stay online and keep my mind busy from focusing too much on my current Garmonbozia. Of course, that means that I'll write about it. Bleh.

Peter Jackson has lost a phenomenal amount of weight. He's now no longer as adorable as he used to be. I like large men. I prefer them that way. That's just my taste. Peter Jackson always reminded me of Xavier. Now? Meh. I'm still not certain if I want to see King Kong. I never liked any of the previous Kong movies, feeling very bad for the giant ape. Really, I don't need any more encouragement in my misanthropy. If the movie ends differently from the others, I may consider seeing it. If not.... well, I can think of a number of other flicks I'd rather go see.

I'd like to have the entire series of Twin Peaks on DVD. That'd be groovy. It's been years since I saw the show and, even though I despised how it ended, it's still one of those television programs that defined a large chunk of my life.

Motley is now wide awake and ready to rumble. We'll be pulling her out of the pen soon and will let her explore the house at her leisure. My aim is to have her totally out of the pen by Wednesday. She's really too large for it and, since she's no longer contagious and seems to be getting on with the other beasties well, I want her out and free to be herself.

I'm hungry. For the first time today, I'm hungry. Grapes are in order.

Everyone is in and snuggled for the evening. I'm waiting on Aunt Tudi to wake up from her nap so we can tend to Motley's needs and let her explore the house a little. She's still a little sick baby and, BOY, does she stink! Her poop is the worst smelling thing I've had the misfortune to encounter in a very long time.

All in all, it's been a pretty decent introduction for Motley. Of course, she's still in her pen for the most part and has her personal play time in the isolation of the bathroom. By Tuesday, though, I'm thinking she can roam about the house and learn where she fits in. I've already asked Aunt Tudi to be patient with Smidgen and Shmoop because it's inevitable that they will give Motley a few smacks here and there. That's cat society and they'll have to work it out in their own feline way. We can't interfere without doing more harm than good.

Riley is already excited about having a new kitten to play uncle to. He's such a big softie, that dog.

I'm satisfied with our progress so far. ::nods:: Motley has gone from being a mostly feral kitten who ran every time she saw us to a mostly tame baby who runs up to my hand and begins purring the minute the opportunity arises. She's already beginning to learn her name, too. I can say "Motley" and she'll meow back and rub along the pen. Right now, she's just marking territory but I've found her doing the "you're family" head butt as well. Very good!

After valiantly fighting it for several days, I woke up this morning with my body finally succumbing to the Slobovian Death Plague. I made my way to the PO only to find mekkasimian's map back in my box. I'll be re-sending it priority on Monday and complaining to the postmaster. I'm back home for good unless Aunt Tudi needs to run to the store and pick up a baking pan that can serve as a larger litter pan for Motley. I'll take her and she can go in 'cos I'm scary and do not belong in public.

It turned out the vet's office is closed today. Some Saturdays around the holidays, they don't open. Can't blame 'em. But I won't be able to get a tapeworm pill until Monday. Maybe by then, I'll feel more human.

Being unable to breathe and blink my eyes isn't a deterrent to working on B's site. So here I sit, snotting up my keyboard.

While I wait to for my 'puter to upload new pics to barryandrews.net, I figured I'd trawl LJ and check out my friendslist. It's all buggered, though. The layout is loopy or sommat. Is LJ still having issues? Dunno. I haven't complained about LJ one bit though, and don't intend to start now. I'm thankful to Brad Fitz for inventing such a place wherein I could vent my wrath instead of wreaking havoc upon family and coworkers. If the LJ team is having problems, I'm fine to deal with it until they can work it out. It's all good. If it were left to me to fix everything, everyone would be fucked, 'cos I'm a web-idiot and can barely get through the day on the Intarweb.

Ah! Uploading is complete. For now, I have the rudimentary revamp of barryandrews.net up and running. Only the 'art' button works for now. B sent me even more frightening goodness for me to show people, so I'll be pretty busy for the majority of the weekend.

It's colder than a well-digger's arse outside. When it's the cold, we deserve SNOW, dammit! Snow Snow Snow! I want a super snow storm that goes down in the annals of history as being so tremendous, people just trembled with awe when they thought about it. Yeah. At least a foot of snow in the Upstate. Is that too much to ask?

I have to be up early tomorrow. Gotta get to the PO before they close and I need to get a pill for Motley. She has a tapeworm! Aunt Tudi is about to have a conniption because Motley has a tapeworm. If that was all Motley had wrong with her, I'd be a happy crazy catlady. Tapeworms are nothing to eradicate.

Her brother Lynx makes two of Motley, but he's healthy as a horse, so that's to be expected I guess. Aunt Tudi is out of her head with happiness that I was able to snatch the little girl and get her to Dr. Patch. It wasn't that difficult 'cos the bebbeh was weak from illness. The good news is that she's already responding positively to human presence and just rolled around with joy while Aunt Tudi was petting her today. When we get her home on the 8th, she should be quite open to our taking care of her. Whilst in Spartanburg, I spied this lovely sign at Applebees. I swear, managers should make sure the employee they send out to change the signs can fucking spell first!

I am now going to work on what I hope is the very end of The Chalice, then go through falkenna's notes and started making the necessary alterations. Really, I'm not certain if I should even bother with sending this to any publisher, but I'm still playing around with the idea in my rotten little mind. We'll see....

Motley is in the hospital with toxemia and a variety of other baby kitty ailments. She's contagious so that's why she's staying with Dr. Patch for the next week or so. I don't want to keep her on the back porch because it's too cold for the wee tot and I can't let her indoors 'cos she'd spread the disease wealth to Smidgen and Shmoop.

Once she comes home, though, she'll be cat #3 to come into the Inner Circle. I don't think there will be a problem with integrating her in with Smidge and Shmoop since Motley is probably related to both of them in some way. I'm certain she's related to Smidgen since they're both Manx. Besides, both Smidgen and Shmoop are very accepting of other cats because they have always been exposed to a large number of them.

Since I've been calling her Motley for ever the longest, she already partially knows her name, but we gave her Paisley's middle name to honour Paisley's memory since Motley looks so much like her. Fialovy is Czech for lavender, which was the colour of Paisley's eyes when she was a kitten. I can't imagine a finer tribute to our late feline queen.

I haven't much to write about, yet I'm keen on writing something. Actually, I should turn my attention to finishing The Chalice but, to be honest, I really need at least one day's break from it. I'm getting to the portion of the book where all the main characters are together. My head isn't large enough to fit them all in at once, but it must be done. Yes, I know this is all I've been writing about for the past month, but there's not much else going on. One thing I want to include in the book is poem I wrote that eventually came to be the lyrics for one of Magnificat's songs. The lilt and tempo might be very familiar to peeps in tune to certain things.

Enigma (the Masque of Cadmus)

As you drift dangerous past my eyesI see the mask that once you woreAnd you are hunting down my spiesThat watch you, wanting ever moreThe illusions far beneath your skinSurfeit with great uncertaintyAnd I'm in earnest to dig inAnd reach your soul for me to see

Your mask may scare me out of sleepYour dreams are nightmares for the weakYour passion drives my heart to weepIt's your enigma that I seekAnd what I found was always mineAnd what I say I've said beforeYour kisses taste like blood and wineAnd leave me spent upon the floor

Yes, we shall see what dreams can shareAnd we shall touch that holy placeAnd when we sleep we'll travel thereTo find ourselves in sacred spaceWe'll go to where the fountains singTo listen to the night's refrainWe'll hear the Bells of Silence ringThen dance the nightmare trip again

It's not even 7PM yet, but it feels like it should at least be 10PM. After dealing with the 24-hour Belly Splooge, I'm feeling kinda of weak and tired. Here's hoping I'm not in the same boat tomorrow. I have to go to The Pit and have Jan fill out her portion of my credit card insurance papers. Once I get that done, I can mail the necessary paperwork to the appropriate souls, sit back and let the insurance pay against my debt for at least 6 months. These companies also pay like 3 to 4 times the minimum amount due, so I'm looking at very small credit card statements once my insurance runs out and my 401k money is in my hot trembling paws. I have to get up early tomorrow to take Motley over to Dr. Patch's. Hopefully, he can treat her and give her back to us tomorrow afternoon. Aunt Tudi is quite keen on adopting Motley because she looks so much like our Paisley, may she rest in peace. The only difference is, Motley has no tail. Like her brother Lynx, Motley is a button-butt.Tonight, I think I shall watch a DVD until I pass out. This is no different than any other night. My life is so exciting.

I have some sort of stomach flu. It started last night and has been horrid today. I haven't eaten a bite all day, yet I'm still dry-heaving. It's bloody unpleasant, I say!

I'm taking the day off from writing today, if I continue to feel like this. My thoughts aren't the best-directed today. I've already met the 50k quota and the rest is gravy. I'm adding Beautiful Pets as an introductory chapter for Cadmus. This should make falkenna very happy. I was thinking about adding The Embrace of Cadmus as well, but I've pretty much decided against that. It's a stand-alone story that wouldn't fit in with the rest of The Chalice.A few days ago I got The Stand on DVD. The Stand was the second book by Stephen King that I'd ever read. The first one was The Shining. I've read tons of Stephen King, but The Stand remains my favourite book to this day. I think it's because this is Stephen King's version of the Alpaca Lips and I have a weakness for Alpaca Liptic stories.

Anyway, I read The Stand in 1980 during my two week stay in West Virginia. I was enthralled from start to finish, and was particularly intrigued with the character of Nadine Cross. For some reason, I always felt a kinship to her. I could easily see myself being promised to some infernal entity who would turn my hair white overnight. The most disturbing part of the film adaptation is Laura San Giacomo's performance as Nadine, especially when she's brought out of the desert by Randall Flagg. "We are dead and this...is...HELL..."

And then there's Randall Flagg. I was totally in love with him when I read the book. The cover of the paperback I had proudly displayed his dark visage and I was fascinated with him.

Come to think of it, he looks an awful lot like Darth Maul on this cover. Hm. I remember losing myself completely in those intense cat eyes and marvelling at the power he wielded in the story. Maybe that's why I related to Nadine so well. Maybe I'm damned.

I like Jamey Sheridan, but I have never been able to reconcile with his being cast as Randall. That's just me, though. I guess Stephen King was pleased with Mr. Sheridan since he had a lot to do with the filming of his own book. No one knows a person's characters better than the person who created them. So I accept it, but the Randall I see in my mind's eye looks more like the book cover and nothing like Jamey Sheridan.

As for The Stand and The Stand, I find myself hoping that the Avian Flu will be like Captain Trips. We seriously need to have our arses whupped by something so small we can't even see it. It would be a horrible thing to happen to humanity but, given our behaviour over the past few centuries, we more than deserve it.I'm currently sipping a Welch's sparkling grape soda to try to get my stomach to settle. This is the best damned grape soda I have ever had the pleasure of splashing on my happy little tongue. There is a party going on in my mouth right now. The stomach is still squealing and gurgling though, so I'm taking it slow.I got a picture of Motley not long ago. Her eyes don't usually glow like this, but I think I have a cursed camera. She's quite affectionate and very sweet, but she's also very sick. It looks like her anus is prolapsed, which isn't a serious thing with kittens or puppies. You just poke their buttholes back in and they're fine. But the cause of this I think is a little more serious. She has some serious gastric issues and she's also chugged up like Smidgen and Shmoop were when we rescued them.

I just heard from Todd. He's safely back in Portland and texted to let me know. He'll be calling later on this evening. If the chance ever arises, I'm going out there to visit with him. It'll just be him and me, no family or any outside influence. We'll watch Pink Floyd's The Wall and cast a circle to share some peace in sacred space. Someday.

Motley one of the tortoiseshell Manx kittens had been gone for a couple of weeks. She returned today still the same size and very sickly. Using leftover turkey, I lured her close enough to me to snatch her little ass and put it in one of the carrying cases. We're now waiting for Gloria to call us back so we can ask her if she'd let us sneak Motley into the hospital today instead of having to keep her in the small pen on the back porch until Monday.